


Paradise

by liionne



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - San Junipero, Black Mirror - Freeform, Black Mirror - San Junipero, M/M, Mention of attempted suicide, some talk of terminal illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 12:21:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8372143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liionne/pseuds/liionne
Summary: There's a spatter of laughter, and then a man walks into the bar, swagger in his step. He tugs at the cuffs of his black suit jacket, runs one hand over his slicked back hair, and orders a whiskey from the bar. Steve watches him for a moment, enraptured. He watches his strong jaw shift as he takes a sip of the amber liquid, and he watches him wince a little, no doubt as it burns his throat on the way down. Steve looks away when the other looks over, and his cheeks turn pink at the thought that he could have been caught looking.

  "Hey - punk."
Steve and Bucky meet in 1930s Brooklyn, and form a connection that seems to defy space and time.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is entirely based on the 4th episode of the new season of Charlie Brooker's _Black Mirror_ , so I take no credit for the ideas, but I do wholly recommend that you watch it - it's a piece of artwork. Some of this fic is a little heavy, so do make sure you've read the tags. I tried to give it a quick once-over myself, but if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes, just let me know!

The little bar in Brooklyn isn't too crowded; it never is around this time. It's populated enough that dancing is still fun and not awkward. There's a background layer of chatter and laughter, smoke rising up from the cigarettes that lay between peoples' fingers, actually bringing a smile to Steve's face as he breathes it in. The band picks up another song, some rendition of _In the Mood_ , Steve thinks - he recognises it. He sits at the bar, alone; it's only his first night here. He hasn't met anyone yet.

There's a spatter of laughter, and then a man walks into the bar, swagger in his step. He tugs at the cuffs of his black suit jacket, runs one hand over his slicked back hair, and orders a whiskey from the bar. Steve watches him for a moment, enraptured. He watches his strong jaw shift as he takes a sip of the amber liquid, and he watches him wince a little, no doubt as it burns his throat on the way down. Steve looks away when the other looks over, and his cheeks turn pink at the thought that he could have been caught looking.

"Hey - punk." He says it, words that should be a threat, or the start of one, but there's a definite smile in his voice. Steve looks up at him, and the other smiles back, white teeth flashing for a moment. "Yeah, you." He continues. Steve blushes a little more. "You here all on your own?"

"Seems like it." Steve nods, swirling the gin and tonic in his glass, a distraction. Whoever this guy is, he's dazzling.

He nods. "Just a tourist?" The other asks, the smile somewhat gone, his face softer at the question. When Steve nods his affirmance, the smile returns.

"You?" Steve asks, looking up at him.

A small nod, and the other guy smiles again, softer this time. "Yeah. Just a visitor."

The band change their song - it morphs, changing into _It Don't Mean A Thing_. The other guy laughs, his head shaking. "We must have come on Andrews Sisters night." He laughs, and he looks down at Steve again, standing somewhat taller than him with his refusal to take a seat. "What's your name, doll?"

It's not a term that's ever been used to refer to Steve before. He laughs a little, out of shock more than anything else. "Steve." He answers.

"Bucky." Bucky holds his hand out for Steve to shake, and he takes it, lips twitching into a smile as they share a handshake. It seems oddly formal, given the circumstances.

"What brings you here?" Bucky asks, slowly taking a seat beside Steve, his back to the band.

"What brings anyone here?" Steve asks in return, and Bucky laughs.

"No, I mean - what brings you _here_?" Bucky's fingertip jabs the top of the dark mahogany bar, and Steve shrugs his shoulders a little bit.

"I like the music." He says. "And the people. The outfits are kinda fun too. What about you?"

"I've tried 'em all, I guess, but - this is my favourite." Bucky says, and his shoulders shrug. "Hey - how about we dance, huh?"

"I don't, uh - I don't really dance." Steve says, rubbing the back of his neck. "Never have--"

"Then you've never learned. C'mon, it's easy--" Bucky says, knocking back the rest of his drink and reaching for Steve's hand, peeling it away from his glass.

Steve is reluctant; he'd love to dance with Bucky, honestly. He's dazzling. Charming. He's taking an honest to god interest in Steve, and yet - Steve is frightened. He's never had anyone pay him this kind of interest, least of all someone he actually, y'know. Likes.

"I don't wanna step on your toes--" Steve says, as he's dragged away from his seat by Bucky.

"Don't worry, pain dial's set to zero, I won't feel it." Bucky teases.

"Two guys--" Steve tries, his eyebrows drawing together. "--I mean, two guys, dancing-- it's the 30s--"

"Not really." Bucky says. They're standing in the middle of the dancefloor, couples dancing around them. No one has looked twice. No one has stopped dancing. "You tell me right now if you want me to stop, Steve." Bucky says. He holds Steve by one hand, a small space between them. "I'll leave you alone. I'll even leave, if that'll make your night better."

"No, no - I don't want you to leave." Steve says softly, almost inaudible over the band playing behind them. He reaches for Bucky's other hand, and pulls them to his waist. "You're gonna have to show me how to do this, though."

Bucky laughs, his hands squeezing Steve's hips lightly. "Don't mind if I do." He grins, beginning to lead Steve around the floor.

They dance until they're out of breath, cheeks pink and brows coated in a light sheen of sweat. They sit outside on the steps of the bar, looking up at the moon.

"I've had a really nice time tonight." Steve says softly, his hand in Bucky's, his smile bright. Bucky grins, bringing Steve's knuckles to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to them. "Best night I've had here in a while."

"Shame time's running out." Steve murmurs, checking the watch on his free hand.

"Doesn't matter." Bucky says, leaning in close to Steve. "Don't think about it."

They kiss, and Steve smiles to himself. They kiss again, and again, falling into one another. Their lips are still pressed together as the clock strikes twelve.

~*~

A week passes, and Steve finds himself in that little bar again, though this time the band seemed settled on a tribute to Billie Holiday, early hits filling the room, encouraging the people in the centre of the room to dance. Steve looks to the bar - of course, he's hoping for Bucky, but he doesn't see him there. In fact, he doesn't see him anywhere.

And then there's a cough behind him, and a tap on his shoulder; Steve spins around on the perfectly polished floor, a smile lightling up his features when he meets those warm, grey eyes.

"Miss me?" Bucky asks, and Steve can't help but laugh. He reaches up to pull the hat off of Bucky's head, holding it behind his neck as he wraps his arms around it, kissing him slow. Bucky pulls back after a moment, laughing. "I'm taking that as a yes."

"It's a definite yes." Steve agrees, hands moving to Bucky's shoulders. Bucky looks behind Steve at the bar, and then he looks back to him, studying his face for a moment before he smiles. "Do you wanna get outta here?"

Steve should hesitate, maybe, but he doesn't. He nods eagerly. "Please."

Bucky has a place on the third floor of an old red brick building. It isn't as draughty or crumbling as he would expect a building like this to be; in fact, it's perfect. The inside is cosy, the furnishings soft and easy on the eyes. There's a piano in the corner of the living room, settled up against the wall, and Steve's lips curl into a smile. "You play piano?"

Bucky smiles, shucking off his jacket and his tie, undoing the top button of his crisp white shirt. "I do." He says, unbuttoning his sleeves and rolling them up to the elbow. He cuts off Steve's view of it, putting himself in Steve's line of sight. "I'll play for you," He says, and he kisses Steve slow, a reminder of why they're both there. "If we have time."

"If we have time." Steve agrees, allowing Bucky to lead him towards the bedroom.

Steve's breath comes back to him easily as he lays on his back in Bucky's bed, the sheets pooled around his waist. Bucky gives a husky kind of laugh, and sits up, rolling onto his side and propping himself up with his elbow. "Well?"

"What, you want a review?" Steve asks, looking up at him and laughing softly.

Bucky shakes his head, leaning down to kiss Steve again. "I just want to know that you had fun."

"I did." Steve says, nodding. He shifts, one arm moving behind his head, the other taking Bucky's free hand. "I seem to, when I'm with you."

Bucky grins a little, kissing Steve's knuckles once more. "I'm glad." He murmurs. "Have you ever... y'know. Done this with anyone before?"

"Here?" Steve asks. Bucky nods. "No, not here. Last week was my first visit, so... I haven't met a lot of people."

"Oh." Bucky murmurs. He pauses, moving Steve's knuckles back and forth over his bottom lip. "But I mean - you've done it out there, right?"

Steve blushes, and looks away, at the window. Outside, the sky is dark. They're running out of time. Bucky shifts a little, sitting up properly now. "You're a virgin?"

"Was." Steve corrects him, and finally looks up at Bucky - Bucky, who seems a little bewildered. "It's alright." Steve says softly, squeezing Bucky's hand, kissing the back of it as he sits up as well. "I'm glad it was you. I - I like you a lot."

Bucky's features settle into a smile, but it's lacking. It's wrong. Steve breathes out a gentle sigh, and the clock strikes twelve.

~*~

Steve goes back to the bar the next week; he's a little later than he usually would be - he has less time today. Not his fault, but it's not like he can really be angry about it either. Steve searches the bar, but there's no sign of Bucky. He heads to the bar - the bartender might know Bucky, he thinks. "Hey," Steve says, his hands on the dark wood. "Has Bucky Barnes been in tonight?"

"Sorry," The guy says, shaking his head. "Haven't seen him. He comes and goes - if he ain't here, he's usually in the 40s, or the 50s. Sometimes he's in 2012, but it's rare. Try again next week."

Steve watches as the bartender turns away, and he breathes out in a huff. He goes to Bucky's apartment, but it's empty. No answer when he knocks.

Steve is running out of time.

~*~

The week after, he tries the 40s. Then the 50s. Then 2012. There's no sign of Bucky, and Steve is running out of time. 42 hours; that was all he got. He'd already used 30 of them by the time he checks the 30s again, but Bucky still isn't there.

It's his last day; his lasy day in Brooklyn. He steps into the 1940s bar in a simple suit and tie, into a sea of women in bright dresses and men in army uniforms. He looks around, searches every single face, but still Bucky isn't there. Still, Steve can't see him.

He goes to the bar, and gets himself a drink, and that's when he sees him; sitting at the other end of the bar, a woman with dark red hair beside him. Steve swallows thickly around the lump that seems to be forming in his throat, and he steps towards him.

Bucky's wearing one of those uniforms as well; dark khaki, short tie, cap pulled down over his forehead. He looks smart. He looks older, somehow, though Steve knows that isn't possible. "Can I help you?" He asks, looking up at Steve, his smile almost smug. It fades as soon as he sees Steve.

"I think you can, yeah." Steve says. The woman at his side clears her throat, and pats Bucky's shoulder. "I'll see you later, James."

Bucky sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Steve clears his throat. "You've been hiding from me." He accuses, to begin with.

Bucky shakes his head. "I have not."

"Don't--" Steve breaks off, and he sighs in a huff. "Don't lie." He says. Bucky won't look at him - he keeps his eyes down. "If you just - if you just wanted sex, then you should've said. I wouldn't have gotten involved."

"It wasn't just sex, Steve--" Bucky says, his head shaking. "But it wasn't - I didn't want-- this is supposed to be fun, okay?"

"You didn't have fun with me?" Steve asks, a stabbing pain in his chest - so what had he been to Bucky, then? If not fun? Had he just wanted to get rid of him the entire time? Steve turns away as if he's going to leave, but he finds himself rooted to that spot, held in place. He scrubs one hand over his face as Bucky begins to speak, but Steve blocks it out.

"This place - Brooklyn - it isn't meant for long term-- long term _anything_! You come here, you have fun," Bucky says, sounding angry now, his voice sounding loud and clear to Steve, despite the fact that nobody else was looking at them, noticing them. "I don't come here to have relationships."

"And you couldn't have told me that three weeks ago?" Steve asks, brow furrowed. "You couldn't have told me that before you used up all my time?"

Bucky sighs, deflating almost. "I don't-- Steve--"

"Forget it. Forget me." Steve huffs, this time finding that his feet _will_ move, leading him out onto the street. He wanders for a little while around the block, and eventually climbs up one of the fire escapes, settling on the cold metal balcony, overlooking the people below. It's his last trip today - well, it might be. He isn't sure what's going to happen yet. He wonders how many of the people down there are residents - how many of them are dead. He doesn't realise he's been wondering aloud until there's a voice beside him, a warm body settled by his side to offset the cool night air. "About 80, 85%." Bucky says, tongue running over his lips for a moment, his gaze down on the people below. "There's only a few visitors. They blend in pretty well, though."

Silence falls for a second, as Steve watches the people move around below. "What're you doing here, Bucky?" He sighs.

"I wanted to apologise. For being an idiot." Bucky says.

"A jerk." Steve corrects him, lips pursing.

Bucky smiles a little, but its somewhat rueful. "A jerk." He nods. Quiet again, for a moment. "I really am sorry, Steve. I was an asshole. I think - I think I was frightened. Of you. Of how I feel about you."

Steve purses his lips a little, his eyes still down on the ground, until finally, he looks up. Bucky is looking at him, his gaze settled on Steve's face, and Steve - Steve's heart skips a beat, right there. He's never had anyone look at him so intensley, and with so much feeling. It takes his breath away. Bucky reaches out, and sweeps his fingertips across Steve's forehead, pushing his bangs out of his eyes. Steve smiles a little, melts, just like that. One touch.

"We can go back to my place, if you want." Bucky murmurs. "We don't have to - y'know. It's just warmer in there than it is out here."

Steve gives a little smile, looking at Bucky. "Will you play for me?" He asks.

Bucky nods, and he smiles in turn. "Of course."

The piano is still tucked up against the wall; Bucky sits down in front of it, and lets Steve sit beside him, lets him watch as his fingers caress the keys. Steve doesn't know what tune he plays but he knows that he likes it; it's beautiful. He tells Bucky that himself. Bucky smiles softly, and his hands return to his lap. He doesn't say anything; he leans across and kisses Steve, and it feels just as good as it did the first time. Steve kisses him back, his lips on Bucky's, hands moving to his shoulders, his face. He's convinced that kissing Bucky is the best thing in the world - or close, he thinks later on, as he lies in bed beside him, naked save for the sheets that settle around his waist. Bucky lies beside him, breathing deeply for a moment before he turns, and pulls Steve into him. "I want to visit you." He murmurs, his lips close to Steve's forehead.

Steve shakes his head, immediately on the backfoot, almost defensive. "No, no--" He says, looking up at Bucky. "I don't think - you would like me. You wouldn't like me outside of Brooklyn."

"I'd like you anywhere, anytime." Bucky murmurs, kissing the tip of Steve's nose. "Any universe. Where are you?"

Steve relents. "Washington DC." He says, biting his lip.

Bucky smile. "I'm in Manhattan. I can make it - I _will_ make it. I want to see you."

Steve feels like it's a bad idea - he feels like it's a horrible idea, but he nods. "Okay. Okay - you can come and see me." He murmurs. He writes the address down for Bucky - tells him to call the number he writes down. He closes his eyes, and settles his head against Bucky's chest, listening to the steady thumping of his heart as the clock strikes twelve.

~*~

Bucky makes the necessary arrangements. It's a Wednesday morning when he combs his hair, puts on a nice shirt, a nice pair of pants, and lets his carer help him down the stairs of the nursing home to the car. Cars these days - they're barely cars at all. They're like... shuttles. Fast. Streamlined. He learned to drive in the noughties, when people still died in car crashes because people still drove their cars themselves. Not that he's complaining about the driver-less thing. It's good. The future is pretty neat.

The address Steve gave him is a hospital. His carer helps him out of the car, and she walks close to his side as he makes his way in. His metal arm grips his walking stick tightly, and they're greeted at the door by a woman, her blonde hair pulled into a neat bun behind her head. "You must be Mr. Barnes." She smiles, and she looks genuinely pleased to see him. "He's waiting for you."

Bucky is led upstairs, the elevator whizzing through floors until it stops, and the nurse, and Bucky's carer, lead him out, and down the hall. Steve's room is the last one on the block. The door slides open, and Bucky takes a deep breath as he steps inside. There's no whirring of machines, as there used to be, but every so often there's a faint beep. Bucky moves to the side of the bed. The lady, Sharon, smiles softly. "He can't move, or look at you, but he can hear you. He'll know you're here."

Bucky gives a little nod, and uses his flesh hand to take hold of Steve's own, bringing his lips close to his ear. "Hey, punk." He says, and he chuckles softly, kissing Steve's temple.

In the cafeteria, Bucky lets his carer go out for a smoke whilst he sits with Sharon. She brings a coffee over for each of them, and smiles softly. "He didn't tell you, then?" She asks.

Bucky shakes his head. "No, he didn't. Never mentioned why he was visiting. He just - well, he just said that he was."

Sharon nods. "It happened a while ago. He was in his early twenties - 2012, I think the accident happened. Maybe 2013. He was in the military - serving overseas, in the Middle East. He saved three other guys. Completely paralysed himself in the process. Back then, he had no family. He'd never set any wishes for his death, so... he's been on life support ever since."

Bucky swallows a little thickly, his coffee untouched in front of him. Steve had been lying in that bed for nearly 60 years; at least Bucky had lived a life, whether he'd lost his arm or not.

"Did he tell you about the passing over?" Sharon asks.

"What?" Bucky asks in turn, his brow furrowing.

"He's passing over." Sharon says. "He was in his trial period, for Brooklyn; he's going to pass over tonight, or so we hope. He doesn't have any family, so we're getting married, y'know. A spouse can give the order to let him go."

"He's marrying you?" Bucky asks, and his lips twitch a little. He doesn't know why he finds that so amusing, or maybe his smile comes from how lovely Sharon's being, marrying an old man to help him to paradise. After a momentary pause, Bucky reaches across the table, always with his flesh hand, and lays it down against hers. "Let me do it."

The pastor arrives at three; the ceremony is short and sweet, with only Sharon and Bucky's carer watching on. Bucky holds Steve's hand, whether he can feel it or not. The pastor announces them married at 15.15. At 15.16, Bucky presses a kiss to Steve's still, chapped lips. At 15.17, Sharon turns the machines off.

Bucky is taken back to the car, and then back to the home, and then back to his chair by the window. His carer sets the small disc onto his temple, and away he goes.

~*~

He shows up on the street in Brooklyn, in his best formal suit, his hair slicked back, young again. He pulls up outside his own apartment building in a Chrysler Imperial Phaeton, the roof down, his arm hanging out the window, and he tuts when he sees Steve. "You didn't even dress up for me, Mr. Barnes?"

Steve blushes, and blinks,now finding himself in a matching suit, his hair still a mess despite it all. He grins at Bucky, and he moves towards the car. "That's Mr. Barnes-Rogers to you."

"Hyphenated, I like it. Very modern." Bucky teases. Steve leans in to kiss him once he's settled in the car, Bucky pulling him closer by his tie. They drive until they reach Coney Island, at which point Bucky stops, and he helps Steve out of the car, pulling him closer for another kiss. They walk the length of the pier, hand in hand, sometimes chattering and sometimes silent. Bucky leads him to the end, and they look out to sea together; the sun may have already set, but it's beautiful regardless.

"Bucky," Steve murmurs, his fingers gently squeezing Bucky's. "Bucky, what are you gonna do? When it's your time?"

There's a change in Bucky's attitude, in the expression on his face and the line of his shoulders. He isn't happy. He must have been dreading this. "Not this." Bucky answers after a moment, clearing his throat.

Steve looks at Bucky, but Bucky won't take his eyes off the ocean. "Why?" He murmurs. "Why not?"

Bucky shakes his head a little. "Because." He says. "Because it isn't - because it isn't right. My mom. My sisters. They all died without this. Without a second home to go to. And living forever - who even wants to live forever?"

"I do." Steve murmurs. Bucky looks over at him, at last, and Steve continues. "I do. I didn't get a life, Bucky. I want one, now. I want it with you - I don't want to do this alone."

"You won't be alone. Practically everyone here's a resident." Bucky says, his head shaking. "You'll meet someone eventually."

"I don't want to." Steve says, his head shaking. "I want you. How long - how long have you got left? Out there?"

"Doctors said it was six months a year ago." Bucky murmurs. "Could be tomorrow. Could be this time next year, Steve, I don't know--"

"So you don't even know how much time you have." Steve murmurs. "I could - I could never see you again. You could leave, and what then?"

"Steve--" Bucky begins, but Steve keeps talking, keeps panicking, chattering endlessly.

"You could be here, Bucky - you could be happy. You could live again, live a different life, with me - here. We could be together, we're married--"

"Not really, Steve! We aren't really married! I married you so you could get here!" Bucky says, and he steps away, running a hand through his hair. "I - I pitied you. It didn't mean anything. This isn't what I want for the rest of my existence, Steve. This isn't it!"

And then he's gone, storming off along the pier. He storms off, back along the pier. Steve is left to watch as he reaches the part of the pier where the sand meets the water below, and he hops the railing, falling to the bottom.

Bucky lies face down in the sand, unconscious for a moment. He felt nothing - the drop, however many god damn feet it was, did nothing. He isn't hurt. He's alive. And Steve is reaching for him, helping them up.

As their hands meet, the clock strikes twelve.

~*~

Bucky sits in his chair, his carer by his side, and he looks out at the city that bustles around them. He's old now. He's stuck in his ways, maybe. He's always said he wouldn't go to Brooklyn, he wouldn't pass over - he'd just drop out of existence, off the face of the planet, ending it all and bringing his life full circle, from the blackness, back into it.

But as he sits and looks at the bustle of life, the cogs in his mind begin to turn. He looks out at the city, and he sighs. "Well I did marry him, didn't I?"

"What's that?" His carer asks, looking across from him. Bucky just smiles softly. "I married him." He repeats. "I should probably go be with him."

~*~

Three weeks of being alone. Steve sits on the fire escape, looking up at the stars that peek through between the gaps in the buildings, the alley below him quiet. He breathes in the cool night air.

From behind, a hand lays over his own. Lips settle close to his ear.

"Hey, punk."

**Author's Note:**

> I hope that made sense to everyone - if not, feel free to ask me here or on [my tumblr](http://liionne.tumblr.com) and I'll try to answer the best I can! Or, alternatively, go watch the episode on Netflix.
> 
> If you have any prompts or questions, feel free to leave them in the comments or send them over to my tumblr (link above!). I am considering doing a Stucky Black Mirror AU for Episode 1 of Season 2, _Be Right Back_ , but we'll see.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
